It’s not like I’ve forgotten.
Less than a year later and that wound still surges and festers below a thin covering of flesh. I cannot forget its there. I don’t want to. Somehow the wound feels like the only real connection to the man. But how can that be true? The man did not remind me of a wound. The man was not a throbbing pain in my heart.
Christmas came and went without a single tear. I’m not sure how that was possible. My only explanation is the absurdity of the holiday: a brightly lit, finely decorated harlot selling gluttony and guilt. We bought it from this two-bit hooker and then wondered why the days after feel like hangover instead of holiday glow. We’ve been duped.
Fortunately, unfortunately, the distraction offered me respite from the tiring work of grieving. I suppose you cannot escape that fat bastard Grief. He struts in whenever the door’s left unlocked, cracks a beer from the fridge, spreads out on the living room sofa and refuses to leave until he’s had his way with you. Now that the company’s gone and the parties are over, I discover him among the discarded gift-wrap and food debris, waiting for me.
I sit down on the couch beside him and pat his leg. I’ve almost missed him. Ever since Joy showed up in her big summer hat, Giref has kept his distance. She’s using the spare room and I suppose he felt like too much of a slob in his sweats on the couch. But he’s back, and Joy is still fast asleep in the other room. We stare silently out the big bay window which is obscured by the unlit Christmas tree. Our breath mimics the fat, white flakes as they hypnotically, silently, slip through the air. There’s really nothing to say.
Today is my dad’s 56th birthday. Or I suppose would have been, were he still alive. This is still the 56th anniversary of his birth. He just isn’t here to celebrate it with us. Surprisingly, unsurprisingly, I’m not really in the party spirit. I shouldn’t have been surprised to find Grief on my couch this morning. It just might have been nice if he’d brought a fruit basket or something.
